Tide

by Lacy Sheridan

He looked over his shoulder. “Unless you’d prefer to wait.”

  “I—no. No, let’s go.” The sooner we got to his world the sooner I could find Tobin. We walked in silence for several more minutes, me stumbling along behind him while he weaved ever faster through the trees. “Aven!” I called. “Slow down! I’m human, remember?”

  He gave an agitated sigh and stopped, waiting for me to catch up. “Passings can change at any moment. We should hurry.”

  “What are passings?”

  “The openings between here and my world. The spots that we can…well, pass through. When your people drove us out of your world they used our own magic against us to create a barrier. But there are weak spots, and sometimes they crack open and we can slip through. It’s how I got here, how the ones who attacked your village got here, and how we’ll get back.”

  “So there’s a passing near here?”

  “I think so. There’s a weak spot, at the very least; it’s the one I used before. It may be open.”

  “If it’s stayed open for fifty years I doubt going slower so I don’t trip and kill myself will make a difference.”

  He looked me up and down, I felt heat rise in my cheeks, and then nodded. “Be careful, then.” And he continued without giving me a chance to respond.

  I knew better than to keep bugging him. I followed, tongue held and grateful he slowed down. If every movement of his had been carefully calculated, liquid and graceful, before, it was doubled now. Like he was a part of the earth itself, knowing every root and rock and tangled bit of undergrowth before he reached it and deftly avoiding it. The sun, where it leaked through the trees, flashed on those strange, ever-changing ripples of dark and fair skin, and I couldn’t stop staring at them when they caught my eye. They were impossible and yet so natural on him.

  “You’re staring,” he said, breaking me from my thoughts without even looking at me.

  “I’m not.” Damn him.

  “Humans always stare. Some because they’re afraid, some because they’re envious. Is it true your people used to skin selkies, before the war?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “They tell us your nobles decorated their homes with our skins, so that when the sun came through their windows it would change.”

  My stomach churned at the image. “Your real skin? Not your sealskin?”

  He shook his head. “Only a few ever figured out how to do that.”

  “I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know any nobility.”

  He paused and looked at me, choosing his words. “Is it because you’re afraid, then?”

  “No.” A lie, in a way. I was terrified of Aven, though not all the time. Times like this, I could look at him and almost forget what he was. Until the old man’s words echoed through my head again, until that power that wove through his eyes reminded me of what lurked beneath the surface. And then when night fell, I found myself sitting awake, wondering what would happen if I were to let my guard down and sleep near him. And now that he had his power back…

  He hadn’t tried to touch me since I’d flinched from him.

  Despite the quiet seriousness of the exchange, half of an amused smirk flickered in place and he shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar. You’d better practice that if you plan to survive the Realm of Tides. Secrets are currency there.”

  I hurried over a rocky patch of the unmarked path after him. “The Realm of Tides?”

  “My home. My world. Didn’t they ever teach you the name?”

  They hadn’t. We’d only known it as their world, as the place of our nightmares. But the Realm of Tides sounded more like something from a dream. A place of fantasy and magic.

  I knew from his comment that it wasn’t.

  Aven stopped walking, and I stumbled behind him, pulling up inches short of crashing into his back. “What—”

  “Shh.”

  I held my tongue, waiting. Whether he heard or smelled something I couldn’t, or something else was wrong, I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to risk speaking. He looked one way, then the other, as if searching. I held my breath and listened for any sign of danger—any rustle of leaves or grass, any soft footstep, anything. The forest was as silent as ever.

  Aven swore under his breath and turned away, shaking dark hair from his face. “It’s gone.”

  My stomach dropped. “The passing?”

  “Yes, the passing. It’s closed. Who knows how long ago.”

  “So how do we get there?” If the passing was closed we were stuck.

  It couldn’t be. That couldn’t be it. Not after I’d done so much, gotten so close. My breath quickened before I could stop it. If Tobin was truly, forever trapped there, if I had no way to get to him—

  Aven cut off my rising panic with a simple, cool answer. “We’ll find another one.” And he started off again.

  “How long will that take?”

  “Passings aren’t always predictable, but if I can find a good spot in the barrier I might be able to force something. Maybe break through.” He glanced up the sky. “There’s a storm coming, a day or two off. I might be able to use it. ”

  “A day or two?” I didn’t have that kind of time. I’d spent four days getting this far already. Four days that Tobin had spent there. I was painfully aware of every second that passed, every second that he might be starved or beaten and facing down his death, or gods only knew what else. And days of sitting around waiting on Aven and trusting some sense he had was too much. “I can’t wait a day or two.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” But my voice trailed off, that question hanging in the air again. I’d tell him. I would. When I had a better idea of what to expect in the Realm of Tides, how to get to Tobin. I ignored the part of my mind that said Aven could be crucial to getting that idea—he’d still killed people. A lot of people. And maybe I had defended him, and maybe I did trust him not to kill me while we were out here alone, but I didn’t know if that would change when he got home.

  I knew he wouldn’t drop the subject, not entirely, but after waiting for an answer, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll work as quick as possible.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  We walked in silence, Aven half a step ahead of me and more alert than before. When I glanced over to him every once in a while, he was always staring off into the trees, watching. Listening. Waiting. I didn’t know. Maybe he was keeping track of the barrier in that way he had. Maybe it was something else. I didn’t ask.

  A faint rustle in the distance stopped us, and Aven tilted his head to listen to it. My heart raced with the possibilities, but I forced them out of my mind. Aven had his skin back. I had my knife and Tobin’s bow. And besides, the largest thing I’d seen in the forest had been the hare I’d caught.

  It came again, and I knew from Aven’s smile it was nothing dangerous. He cast me a sidelong glance. “Are you hungry?”

  I hadn’t been, not before he’d asked that, but my stomach growled at the question. When had I eaten last? Just after I’d left the village, the last bit of bread and fruit I had? “Starving.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You’re always starving,” I couldn’t stop myself from muttering in reply. He chuckled under his breath but shushed me and stepped forward on silent feet.

  “How good are you with that bow?”

  I shrugged, reaching back to run my fingers over the smooth wood. “I’ve only hunted hares.”

  “That’s bigger than a hare, I can tell you that. I think a deer.”

  “A deer?” I hadn’t seen a single deer since leaving home, but the thought of it made my mouth water. That much meat could keep us full long enough to get to the Realm of Tides. Longer. He nodded and started ahead, every movement intent.

  I murmured for Inka to stay behind and followed him, drawing an arrow just in case. Tobin had never taught me how to hunt deer—he’d always said we would work up to it—but it couldn’t be too difficult to hit a vital area. The tricky part w
ould be not spooking it away; Aven was far light and quieter on his feet than I was.

  I saw the blood at the same moment Aven paused. A few drops spattering a tree trunk. Not fatal for anything, certainly not a deer. But it made a thread of worry snake its way into my belly. Aven straightened, listening again.

  We circled the tree slowly. More blood was splattered across the ground, dripping from the leaves of bushes and creating a rough trail ahead, like something had been dragged.

  And ahead of us, draped across the ground, was a deer. But it took my attention less than the thing eating it, tearing away mouthfuls of meat.

  The first thing my mind tried to liken it to was a big cat. Its face was similar, its build. But where the few I’d seen stalking the edges of our farm had thick brown pelts, it had no fur at all, only sleek, tough skin, a blue-gray shade like a fish. Ridges along its spine reminded me of fins, though they were stiffer and looked much sharper. Trailing from either side of its face were two fleshy whiskers like the ones I’d seen on the catfish a traveling trader had once brought to sell in the village, and each of its massive paws held webbing between the toes, which did nothing to soften the threat of its claws.

  Aven paled and took a silent step back, pulling me with him by the elbow. I tightened my grip on the bow to keep from dropping it, my fingers unsteady with shock. A dozen questions flew to my tongue but none came out. My voice was gone.

  I opened my mouth to ask what the thing was and what it was doing here, where it so clearly didn’t belong, but he shook his head before I made a sound. Another step back. I followed his lead, moving as slowly and quietly as possible. This was a creature to get away from unnoticed.

  It tore another chunk from the deer with a satisfied growl that sent a chill through me.

  Crack.

  I didn’t know which of us the branch shattered underneath. All I heard was the sound, so small but echoing through the breathless forest. I risked a glance to Aven, whose eyes were fixed on the thing, chest heaving. I’d never seen him look afraid, but the sight of it made my own fear triple.

  The instant between the crack and the creature’s reaction went on for an eternity. I almost thought it hadn’t noticed, but then its head wrenched up and its dark eyes landed on us.

  Aven didn’t give it a chance to attack; he grabbed my hand and bolted, pulling me after him. I heard the crashing of undergrowth behind us, the snarls of the creature, but didn’t look back. I forced my feet to keep going, tripping and stumbling and flying. Maybe Aven would have outrun it had he been on his own. Maybe it was the limits of my human body that slowed us down. Or maybe, because he looked truly afraid of it, there was no running from it at all. But the creature bounded ahead of us, leaping into our path. Its fangs, stained red with the deer’s blood and sharp enough to tear through flesh with ease, caught my attention all their own as it bared them, long tail whipping through the air.

  My back hit a tree, and a sound like a whimper burst from me. Aven’s gaze flashed from the creature to me and back as he considered what to do. The wind grew, shaking the net of branches above us. The creature hardly noticed, stepping toward Aven.

  “Aven,” I gasped, fumbling with the bow. Did I use it? Leave it? Would an arrow penetrate that rough flesh, or would it make matters work? Could I even use the bow this close?

  At the sound of my voice, the creature turned in my direction, its growl rising. Past it, Aven shook his head again. “Don’t speak to it,” he said, drawing its attention to him. He took a step back; it followed with one forward. “As long as you aren’t in the way it’s more inclined to go after me. It smells what I am.” Another step back, and another forward from the creature, keeping pace with him.

  He was drawing it away from me. I knew his plan with one glance from him over the creature’s head, one tiny nod. I slipped away from the tree, another yard from it. Another. Aven kept drawing back toward the deer.

  I slung Tobin’s bow over my shoulder, safely out of the way, and slid the knife from my boot. Aven’s gaze flicked to it and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but I didn’t know what that meant. I tightened my grip, forcing each breath to come slow and even. There was no time for panic. The wind whipped through my hair, across my dress, more violent than it should have been. I knew Aven had something to do with that, but I didn’t know what else he had in mind. He was a selkie, he had to have more tricks in him than a little windstorm.

  The sun dimmed as clouds rolled across the sky. A crack of lightning brightened the gray for an instant—too bright, too close—and thunder echoed in my ears, shaking the trees.

  And then everything happened at once.

  Aven darted to the side, around the creature, as it bolted to attention at the rumbling sound of the thunder. But he wasn’t fast enough; there was a flash of motion my eye couldn’t follow, a snarl that ripped through the heavy air, and Aven’s pained scream. By the time I processed the scene before me, it had pinned him, paws on his shoulders. Crimson blossomed against the pale fabric of Aven’s shirt, his skin.

  My feet moved without my command. My arm swung, and the knife was lodged deep in the creature’s back, between its shoulder blades. At the same instant, something struck me with the force of a stone wall, knocking me to the side. My vision blurred, my senses fractured, and all I could feel was the snap and tear of plants around me. I dug my fingers into the dirt to stop my movement, clawing my way upright. I didn’t count the points of pain that sparked to life all over me, I just moved, racing back to Aven.

  The creature had reared back, twisting its neck to bite at the knife protruding from its back. Aven staggered to his feet, one hand pressed to his injured shoulder. His eyes had gone from deep summer ocean to winter ice, unforgiving. I didn’t think that I might be in his way. I didn’t think of what he might be able to do better than me. I just continued, reaching for the knife. It hadn’t stopped it but it had slowed it down, and if I could stab it again—

  My fingers closed on the hilt, and I pulled, adrenaline tuning out any trace of disgust at the tearing sound that accompanied the knife wrenching free. The blood it had held back flowed freely, drenching my hands. The creature let out a sound like a scream.

  This time I saw the swing of its tail and dodged it, losing my feet and sliding in the dirt. And then it turned and its teeth were inches from me, that snarl sending a wave of hot, rancid breath into my face.

  Stupid, Hania. I had no business here. Everyone had been right, this mission was only going to get me killed.

  I thought I heard Aven’s voice, but the wind tore his words away before I could make them out. It increased more, lashing as if it wanted to rip the trees from the ground and knock us off our feet. My eyes stung and watered, and I closed them, lowering my head. I didn’t want to look at those teeth if they were about to rip into me.

  All at once the wind swirled, jerking to one side in a way so impossible I knew it could only be Aven’s doing. The crack rung through me, down to my bones, and the next instant the frantic rushing died down to a soft breeze. No teeth tore into my flesh. The snarling stopped.

  “It’s done, Hania.”

  I pried my eyes open and stared down at the creature, sprawled in a lifeless heap near my feet, head bent at an unnatural angle. Its blood soaked into the earth around it, but its chest didn’t rise. Not a muscle twitched.

  He’d killed it. With nothing more than the wind.

  I didn’t expect my voice to work, but it came out surprisingly strong. “What was that?” I demanded, unable to look away from the corpse. My hands shook, the blood on them hot.

  Aven brushed dirt and leaves from his hair. “A sellye. Nasty things, and protective of their food like nothing else. They’ll eat anything they can catch, but given the chance they’ll steal our younglings. And I’ve known of a few adults lost to big ones, as well.”

  Sellye. I whispered the word, letting it sink into my mind. Nothing that was possible here. Nothing here was so…wrong and brutal. Our wilds were wild, ye
s, but not like that thing. I wiped my hand on my dress, but that made it worse. “It’s from your world?” He nodded as he tugged his shirt out of place to inspect the wounds on his shoulder. “How did it get here?”

  “A sellye doesn’t survive in a place like this for long. They live near water, and believe me, your people would have noticed one had it been living near the shore. It must have come through a passing. Recently.”

  “How recently?”

  “I would guess three days, at the most. Longer than that and it would be looking for a beach, not hunting.”

  “And how long do passings stay open?”

  “Some for only hours, some for weeks. There’s no way to tell, really.”

  “But if it did come through a few days ago…then a passing may be open nearby.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe. But before you go running off to find it, give me your knife.”

  It was only then that I let myself look at the damage the sellye had done. Two gashes cut into his skin, one across his collarbone and the other cleanly into his shoulder. I stepped forward, eyeing them. “Those need cleaned.”

  He held out his hand for the knife, and I passed it to him. He wiped the blade on his shirt before angling its point into the rightmost wound. He didn’t make a sound, jaw clenched, but I flinched at the sight, and looked away as a fresh trail of blood wound its way down his arm. With the sickening sound of something tearing away from flesh, he popped something thin and wickedly curved out of place and tossed it to the ground. “The worst thing about them, them losing their claws in you.”

  I couldn’t stop from flinching again and stared at the knife when he held it out to me before I took it. My mind spun into action and I dug through my pack. “The water I have is clean, but we need something to clean them with. And dressing…”

  Before I had finished, Aven had ripped a strip from his shirt, offering it to me. I balled it up and tipped the opening of my water skin against it, soaking the thin cloth. It wasn’t the cleanest, but it would have to do. “Can you…” The words left me, but he understood and gingerly pulled this shirt over his head to reveal the full length of the wounds.